War of Minds
by Miss Tango
Summary: A fanfiction featuring: survival in the form of a wimp, a crowbar which is always useful, nightmares or lack of them, some demons, and disappearances which are not always mysterious. First fic. Now with free title! Batteries not included.
1. Chapitre Un

**Author's Note/Disclaimer:** Though none of the canon characters appear in this chapter, I'd like to warn you that I don't own Dante, etc. etc. or any other portion of the Devil May Cry universe.

Carbrey, Martine and all characters and places mentioned in this chapter are mine. So is the crowbar.

Reviews would be wonderful, this is my first fanfiction so please tell me anything I need to improve on. Also, suggestions for a title would be awesome, though I suppose it's a bit too early to really tell what's on.

I need an editor. ee;

* * *

Martine sighed, and the car rumbled to a stop by the side of the road. It was in a terrible state of disrepair, and this _was_ a new car. She turned to Carbrey, who was sitting, staring out of the window, silent and pensive in a way that rather worried her friend.

"Car," Martine began gently, so as not to startle the girl. "Car, this is as far as I'll go. I know the state of the roads in this part, and I don't have enough of a pay check to afford new tyres, or anything else these roads might wreck. I'm sorry." The other girl finally turned, and nodded silently.

"It's okay. I can walk from here, it's not too far. Thanks for taking the time to drive me," Carbrey said, with one of her warm, gentle smiles that were, unfortunately, rare. Martine returned it with one of her own and drove away, thinking no more of the quiet young woman.

The road was in rather bad condition, Carbrey admitted. People were too wary about this place, so they pretended it didn't exist. Even the surrounding regions were a little apprehensive of going too close for an extended period of time. It was - or at least, it had been a respectable, middle-class suburb, nothing distinguishing it from any other in either positive or negative aspects. But that had all changed once the murders started.

Of course, murders were nothing new. People were murdered every day. But it was blood-chilling, nerve-wracking, to hear about murders like _these_. Whole victims torn apart, faces chewed off, morbid entrails arranged around the room. It was disgusting even hearing about them. The murderer had not been caught; no sign ever left of his being there - except, of course, the victims themselves.

Most of the residents had soon packed up and left, so the region was like a ghost town; more than half the buildings abandoned or falling apart, even street gangs too scared to take over in a place that would seem like a black market's paradise. Few people remained, and they were spread far and wide. Carbrey was unfazed by murders, and had been attracted to the place despite its gory history. Well, houses were cheap, anyway. People were only too glad to get rid of anything that might tie them with this place. It was haunted by ghosts and fear for those who had known someone killed like this - and that was practically everyone. Carbrey, on the other hand, was oddly interested in this morbid tale, and preferred not to think of the allegorical demons that lurked around every corner.

Though she'd been walking along rather slowly, lost in her musings, Carbrey stopped and looked up when she heard a sound from up ahead, though she couldn't see what was happening over the hill. It sounded like violence - street fights were still common on the outskirts of the area, where people were a little braver. Well, whatever it was, she definitely didn't want to get involved in it. Quickly looking around, she spotted an open door, probably leading to a basement shop - she didn't think anymore, but just darted down before the fight came her way. She hated violence, and definitely didn't want to get caught up in a brawl.

The shop she eventually came down to was small, well-lit and seemed to be new. There was no one at the counter, so she guessed that the owner had gone up to see the fight, or had left before that, for lunch break or something, though it was odd that the shop was open. Oh well, at least it was handy. She paused for a moment, hearing the fight come over the hill, escalating as it went. Normally, she would have thought nothing of it, but then she heard a snarl, and heavy footsteps descending the staircase. Frantically looking about, she saw a 'Staff Only'… they usually had locks, the oddly calm, logical part of her mind said. She darted in, pausing to lock the door behind her. She turned, leaning back against the door, her heart pounding and her breathing heavy, though she tried to stifle it as much as she could.

It was almost empty, a few nondescript cardboard boxes stacked in the corner and a shelf rolled absentmindedly to the side containing some screwdrivers, a crowbar and, for some reason, a gun. Carbrey rolled the shelf away a little (the room was absolutely tiny) and crouched behind it, chin resting on the cold steel mesh, eyes closed as if that would make everything go away.

------

The next thing Carbrey knew, she was lying on a cold, hard floor. She sat up, looking around and rubbing her back. Somehow, it seemed sleep had hit her like a bullet in the face, a metaphor she found oddly disturbing when she remembered there was a gun in the room. She crawled to the door, pressing her ear against it, but there was no noise that she could hear. She couldn't reach the tiny window, but as far as she could tell there was no one around. Good.

However, the silence was also odd. Something in it made her uneasy, and she decided she should probably take something to use as a weapon…just in case. Her gut instinct screamed self-defence would be necessary, so turning her attention back to the shelf she'd hid behind, she figured the best thing she could take was the crowbar. The store wouldn't miss it, hopefully, and crowbars were _always_ useful. After all, people in stories always ended up in a situation where they could have escaped, could have gotten an all-important item, could have rescued someone else, et cetera, if only they'd had a crowbar.

Well…not, of course, that life was a story. She'd been reading too many of those legends lately.

She didn't know how to use a gun (and she didn't know if it was loaded anyway…hopefully not. The thought chilled her.) and screwdrivers were never useful. And a crowbar was easy to carry; she could slip it through her belt loop and off she went, leaving her hands free. Of course, she would probably make her way home safely and then feel like a complete fool, but…better safe than sorry. She had a bad feeling about this.

Cautiously, she unlocked the door and peeked out into the shop. No one seemed to be around, but the unnerving quality of the silence did not lift. Tense, she opened the door and quietly stepped into the main shop, eyes darting around, looking for anything out of the ordinary, anything that didn't look right.

Then she noticed the floor.

It was covered in footprints. She could recognise some faint ones as her own old sneakers, leading nervously to the store room and back again, but the only other set was more like…claws. Talons. Anyway, it was _not_ human, and it was gigantic. And the footprints, bloody footprints as it were, led straight up to her door. In fact, the door was covered in deep scratches, like someone had gouged a knife into the door, over and over. And next to it, there was a hole in the wall, straight through the bricks. She hadn't noticed it when she'd first woken up, but…by this point, she was trembling uncontrollably.

She wasn't dead, was she? She wasn't a ghost, or at least she didn't think she was. Frantic, she looked down at herself. No, as far as she could tell she was still solid, still all there, still human. Still alive. Okay, it was probably rather odd to check up on that, but she was oddly relieved to find that she still had a pulse. Taking a few deep breaths to calm herself, Carbrey left the shop, forcing herself not to look at the floor.

Everything still seemed to be the same outside as when she'd left, but she could just…it was that odd gut feeling again, that harsh whisper in her mind telling her that all was not well. Something was wrong. That something could be around the corner. Now sufficiently scared, she wiped sweating hands on her thighs, feeling strangely comforted by the cool iron. At first not sure of what to do, she decided the best thing would be to go home.

------

As she walked, Carbrey realised that there was no one around. Of course, the area was generally rather lonely, but you would usually run across one or two people in a twenty-minute walk. She'd been letting her feet wander for more than an hour, and hadn't heard so much as a sigh. She'd also passed her little townhouse three or so times, but…there was something just preventing her from going in. That gut feeling again, of course.

There was something cold in the air, though it was only early autumn. It was something that chilled her to the bone, some sort of ferocious, demonic presence lurking, that she could not place. Perhaps this was what the former residents of the area felt like - like there was something haunting them, always waiting just around the next corner.

Carbrey forced herself to stop, and found that she was weary. Her mind whirled to a stop, and she collapsed, face pale, lips nearly blue, eyes open just the barest slit. To all appearances, she looked as one dead.


	2. Chapitre Deux

**A/N:** Whoops, been a while since I last updated. I'm not leaving this story, I love Carbrey, so sorry about the really, really long disappearance. I've had this chapter half-written for a while.

No real appearances by canon characters yet, either, so I won't bother with a disclaimer.

Please continue reviewing, I love you for it!

You may guess as to the identity of the voice, but it's a secret for now ;D

* * *

Carbrey woke to a horrible sense of déjà vu, and the worst headache in history. She attempted to stand, the pain in her head making her reel and collapse against the side of the building, breathing heavily and holding her hands tightly to her head. After a few minutes, the momentary blindness passed, though the sharp stabs behind her temples did not. She took a few experimental steps, her fingers running along the brick in case. Well, at least she could walk fine again. What was wrong with her? Falling asleep all over the place, without even any warning.

Actually, what most disturbed the young woman was not that she kept falling asleep, but rather that these periods of unconsciousness were _not_ permeated by the nightmares that usually haunted her nights. She shuddered. That was a relief, she supposed, but…it was also worrying. She had lived with those nightmares for years, why should they stop now? Was it because she was falling asleep during the _day_? She shook her head, and immediately regretted it as the pounding escalated and her vision blurred once again. Okay, so her situation wasn't exactly stable. She needed to sit down.

Feeling too sick to move any more to find a bench, she just slid down against the wall, leaning her head back against the cool brick. It was silent, and cool air fanned her flushed cheeks. Carbrey relaxed slightly, her headache slowly ebbing. Suddenly, she sat up, eyes flying open and hands groping for where she'd dropped her crowbar when she fell. Faithful weapon in hand, she cowered back against the wall, tense and nervous now that this unknown noise had reached her ears.

The heavy footfalls were familiar, and for a moment she couldn't place why. But then it clicked - these were those same heavy steps from the shop. The (she hesitated to think the word, even in her fear) …monster. An uncalled for whimper escaped her lips as the violent marks of its passing flashed through her mind. Childishly, she cowered, closing her eyes tightly. The heavy steps got closer. Her heart pounded faster. Protectively, she pressed her wrists against her ears, determined not to hear anything. Perhaps if she shut out all signs of its being there, it would go away. She would wake up. It would have been a dream. The thuds - with their odd, disturbing squelch - were coming closer, closer. Loud enough to hurt her ears even though the ineffective shields of her arms. Carbrey risked a glance, her breath caught cold in her chest. The dark thrill of fear passed through her. Past one eyelash-blurred window into the world, she could see…she didn't know what. As far as she could tell it was just mass of flesh, animated by some dark means. She was frozen with fear, her breath short and sharp. Around her faithful crowbar, protectively shielding her head, Carbrey's knuckles were white.

And then…it stopped. She was afraid to relax for a few moments after she felt that looming presence disappear. Had she died? Was this what it was like to be dead? But there'd been no pain, no moment of intense understanding or omniscient relief. Or…whatever you were supposed to feel when you died. There was only a ringing sound in her ears and--wait. A ringing sound? Carbrey's senses were suddenly flooded as her mind rushed to catch up with the last few moments. Gunshots; there'd been gunshots, and a horrendous, unearthly cry. She allowed herself to relax, her muscles to unknot and loosen. Before her, an odd scene stood motionless in the grey surroundings.

Yes, there was the corpse of the..er…monster…thing. And a glint on the ground to the left of it would have to be bullet shells, right? Resting her elbows lightly on crossed legs, she didn't move for a while, allowing her body (and her mind) to catch up with her eyes, and relax. The crowbar clattering to the sidewalk, she uncomfortably rubbed sweat-drenched hands on her worn jeans. Out of the corner of her eye, though, a movement of sorts sent her scrambling for the reassuring iron again. The body of the monster…demon…thing seemed to be almost…fading? Heaving herself back up, Carbrey warily approached the disappearing corpse. In its place were odd, large gems, like rubies, but shaped in a way that rather disturbed her. She seemed to see pain-filled faces within their depths, and when she bent to pick one up, it disappeared in her hand after a few seconds of inspection. She decided to leave the rest alone. Who knew what these demonic jewels would do?

All thoughts of a threat put out of her mind now, she frowned, scanning the surrounding areas for whoever that had been that had saved her. Or…maybe it was all a dream. A hallucination. Perhaps she'd imagined it, and…yes. This seemed most likely, she'd imagined the whole thing. There had been no strange monster, and the gems were probably just colourful flyers that had flown out onto the streets. She forced herself to be content with this explanation, though she didn't believe it. After all, there was no wind.

Determinedly ignoring those traitorous thoughts, Carbrey set off in the direction of home, crowbar in hand.

------

The mirror reflection always made her stop. She didn't like her reflection, but it wasn't because she was particularly ugly (or so pretty that it made her sick). She had an ordinary face. She had ordinary hair, not quite straight and not quite red, but ranging somewhere between classy blonde and strawberry blonde. Her face was definitely nothing out of the ordinary, it was a normal face like you saw every day. But she tended towards warm colours, Carbrey did. It was just a natural thing. Most everything she owned was some neutral or warm-ish shade of red, orange, brown, or whatever other warm colours existed. Bright colours did not find their way into her wardrobe. Nor did dark, depressing hues. No, she stayed nicely around a neutral-toned area, but it was her eyes that set it off.

Her eyes always made her stop when she looked in the mirror. Even when passing a shop window, she would do a subtle double-take at her reflection. Her eyes seemed so out of place - there, so stark and bright and blue, against all those neutral browns and greys. They seemed so cold, so hard, that she was almost scared. Why couldn't they be nice and normal, like her? Nothing interesting, just nice boring brown eyes, she would have been content with. Hazel, even, though that was a little too 'interesting' for her tastes.

Sighing, she tore her eyes away from her reflection to, instead, focus on the (still drearily empty) street outside. The morning had not done anything to relieve that voice that kept crying out that something was wrong. There was no sunlight; rather, the streets seemed almost scarier, more haunted, with the thick mist that hung around, tainting everything grey and washing out the off-white sky…_Stop this,_ that voice, the gut feeling, told her sternly. _There's no need to make a fool of yourself. There's something going on, stop denying it, now get out there and do something about it._

Carbrey sighed. Wasn't it the third sign of madness when you argued with yourself and lost? Or something like that. She was no saviour of the world, hell, she couldn't even run half a mile without almost swallowing her lungs. _Don't flatter yourself, this isn't a global thread,_ said that voice, in such a scathing tone that Carbrey just wanted to curl up and let the earth swallow her up. This isn't real, she told herself. You're not _really_ arguing with yourself over saving the world…county…whatever. The voice was silent. She sighed, and picked up the crowbar, which she had kept beneath her pillow the last night. You're not really going crazy. She looked out the window again, almost expecting her newfound conscience to tell her to stop stalling and get on with it. _I'm not your conscience, baby,_ it said matter-of-factly. Great. Now she had voices in her mind _hitting_ on her?

The air was chilly, though it was quite late in the morning. Carbrey's grip on her crowbar instinctively tightened. This thing, this piece of iron was the only thing holding her to whatever scrap of sanity she had left. She didn't want to lose it. _Ha ha,_ piped the voice sarcastically. _I didn't think you were the joking type._ Carbrey was about to reply (she was definitely treading the path to insanity) when a loud rumble shook the ground beneath her feet, inciting a whimper instead of the sharp retort she wanted. _Hey, get back there! _snapped the voice in a rather startled fashion, as Carbrey took off.


	3. Chapitre Trois

**A/N:** I'm planning on (maybe) entering a writing competition soon, so WOM will be put on hold till then (the comp. ends August 31). And even if I don't enter, I have so much homework and other stuff that I really can't concentrate much on this. D: It is not making me a happy little bubble of pleasantness, I can tell you that.

Also (still making excuses for delays) I'm planning to change the story from what I originally had; add another OC into the mix narrows eyes this will, however, mean I have to go through my timeline and rearrange things without screwing up the events of the current chapters.

Dante to Capcom, etc. etc.

Please read and review!

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Running was hopeless, the logical part of her knew that, but she was past thinking with her head by then. Carbrey's feet were doing the thinking, and their thinking was something along the lines of, "RUN!" After half a mile, however, their thinking had toned down to something more along the lines of, "…run…" and so Carbrey was forced to listen to that voice in her head again.

_Well, that was a nice little escapade, princess. Are you proud of yourself? Thinking of entering a marathon, are we?_ The growling rumble that had shaken the ground reappeared, louder and undeniably closer. _Nowhere to run now, princess, _chipped in that voice again. Carbrey whimpered, knowing she was cornered. She could hardly walk, she was in the middle of a street in plain sight and she had a voice in her head. Why had she gotten out of bed? The mist made it hard to discern anything further than an arm's length away, but the growling was closer, and louder, and sounded pretty damn hungry. Breathing heavily from her run and the fear, Carbrey staggered towards the nearest door. Strangers' buildings seemed to be her refuge far too often recently.

She could hear heavy breathing just around the corner. Breathing that didn't sound too comforting. The door wouldn't open. Her breath caught in her throat, and her hands were shaking so much the doorhandle rattled unnervingly loudly in the cold morning air. No. Please. No. Help. No. God. No. Her hand slipped as the handle turned and she stumbled in. It didn't lock from the inside, so she just barred it with a broken piece of wood, and turned around, pressing against the door.

The house was once lavishly decorated in a Victorian sort of style. The furniture was all broken now, cobwebs heaping up in piles over the wrecks. Dark stains were everywhere; the putrid smell of something disgusting wafted from the elegant stairs. Carbrey firmly stayed in place. No way would she go up there, except that the voice was arguing again, and winning, again. She toed the first step, half wanting it to fall beneath her weight so she could say, see, it's not safe. No deal.

Unfortunately, it supported her weight perfectly fine. She continued, all tensed up, hands protectively clutched close to her chest. She reached the top of the steps, stuffed her fist in her mouth and fainted.

------

When Carbrey woke up again, her first thought was that she was doing this far too often for her liking. She sat up cautiously, her head pounding. This might be explained by the fact that she was sitting at the bottom of a flight of stairs, stairs that curved, too. _Well, at least you helped a bit with the dusting,_ was the only input from that darkly humorous voice in her mind. She touched her head; there was something warm, sticky, behind her ear. Her hand, it was smeared with red. She blinked, thinking fuzzily for a moment, the carpet must have melted. Then, blood, she could taste it, making her throat close up. Her knuckles, her red right hand, it was torn and bleeding.

At least it matches my hair, she thought light-headedly. She felt so light, felt like floating away, away from the darkness clouding her vision. Then there was a rumble, and the very house shook. That body, that mangled body that couldn't be, was never human, that body tumbled down the stairs, eyes wide open. Eyes open forever, black holes of open, open, openness. Carbrey couldn't take it anymore. She screamed, screamed, froze in place like a statue. Screaming. She pressed her palms over her eyes, watched the lights dance behind her eyelids. There was a hand, a cold, cold hand, cold as ice, as death, pressed against her waist. _Chill, baby,_ the voice said, whispered, struggling to be heard. Carbrey rocked back and forth, head in hands, hands against knees, pressed into herself. Holding herself together, keeping herself alive. Warm, alive. Dead, cold, pressed against her back, ice, frozen finger digging into her spine.

She almost screamed again when a hand touched her shoulder. Dead people didn't come back to life, this hand was warm. She couldn't think, couldn't cry, because her fist was stuffed in her mouth, keeping the screams contained.

"Don't…touch me," she forced out, breath cold and cloudy in the air. "You're dead…not allowed to…"

"I'm dead? Must've missed the memo," said a voice, sarcastically. "This yours?" Carbrey's eyes opened. _Geez, babe, took you long enough to wake up there._ She couldn't tell which was in her head and which wasn't. They sounded the same. _Don't start me with that shit,_ spat the voice._ Now stop being so rude, he's waiting for an answer._

"…Answer?" she whispered to herself, then looked up. She almost screamed again, but that fist, o treacherous fist, it was in the way again. She disentangled her teeth from her hand, then took a deep breath. No screaming, she promised herself. This isn't a horror movie, you're not a damsel in distress. "I…my crowbar!" she said brightly then, seeing it in the stranger's hand. She tried to stand, hurriedly, but stumbled, her legs all cramped up from sitting there for so long. The stranger, the stranger with her crowbar, caught her. Her crowbar.

"This? Found it in the street, figured someone must've survived. Obviously not this sod," he said, gesturing to the owner of the cold hand, with her crowbar. She grabbed for the piece of metal, but the stranger carelessly waved it out of her reach. "Oh no, babe, you're not gettin' this back 'til you've told me just who you are and how you managed to survive the little beastie out there." He slowly looked her up and down. "And give me your number while you're at it."

Carbrey scowled, and crossed her arms primly. "I don't see why I should be telling you anything. For all I know, you could be behind…this…the…I…" She turned pale as she remembered the 'beastie' outside. "The…the monster!" The stranger chuckled.

"Forget about _him_, babe, I already took care of that," he said carelessly, twirling the sword he carried. It was covered in blood, ugly thick slimy stuff. She couldn't bear to look at it. "Now go on, start talking, or I'm pretty sure I'll be convinced you're one of them, too." That shiny, slimy point was uncomfortably close to her neck.

"Okay, okay, don't hurt me!" she gasped. "My name's Carbrey. I, uh, Carbrey Nolane." She paused, raising her eyebrows nervously. The stranger shrugged, as if to say, what? _Dante, dear,_ the voice informed her bitterly. _He's Dante, legendary demon hunter, part demon. Not very interesting, though we might want to chat about his brother later, babe. _ Carbrey paused. This voice might even be useful, she thought as she continued. "I was away, I mean, I was working, and when…I came back, there was no one."

"Really. What a coincidence," Dante said, in a way said he wasn't entirely convinced. Affronted that he thought she would lie (and why bother? There was nothing to protect), she opened her mouth to say something, but was quietened when he just handed her the crowbar without another word. I feel so much saner now, she thought, and started as she realised the stranger--Dante, that is--was leaving.

"Hey, where are you going?" she asked worriedly, trotting after Dante as he left the house. "You're not leaving me all alone, all here with these things around? They'll kill me, kill me! Dead! Dead!" She could hear her voice rising in pitch. He seemed not to hear her. "Dante?"

She flinched as he spun, looking like he was going to hit her or something. "That's funny, isn't it, babe. I never told you my name." The sword edge was alarmingly close again.

"I...no, I…it...you…" Carbrey stammered, unable to make an excuse. After all, 'I have a voice in my head and it told me your name' didn't sound like a very legitimate reason. "Don't hurt me!" she squeaked. "Please, it doesn't matter; just don't leave me alone here. I'm scared; I don't know what to do." She was almost sobbing, and she could just feel disgust and scorn radiating from that presence in her mind, which had just gotten her in trouble with the only other living being she'd seen for the past day or so. _There was that demon yesterday, too, you know,_ the voice mentioned casually.

Dante stared at her for a few more moments before lowering the sword. "Fine, whatever. If you can keep out of the way, do whatever you like." Carbrey nearly collapsed with relief. She wasn't alone! The particular company was perhaps not the most pleasant, but at least there was no more worrying, thinking, is this read? Am I dead? Not to mention she had her crowbar back. She was quite attached to the crowbar by now; it had been there the whole time, always there, solid and cool and iron and _there_. Carbrey felt like she _relied_ on this crowbar, relied on the solidness, the always-there-ness. She needed it, however pathetic it sounded.

_Pathetic, _echoed that voice in her mind as she trotted to keep up with Dante. _It's just a piece of bent metal._


End file.
